


The Fight Against Fear

by Covinskey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate universe - She Ra Inspired, Canon-Typical Violence, End Avatar Georgie Barker, Gen, I wonder what will happen if you transplant horror into children's adventure, I'm sure itll be fine, Mild torture, Spiral Avatar Tim Stoker, Violence against minors, playing fast and loose with canon, they're all teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covinskey/pseuds/Covinskey
Summary: Jon Sims is an ordinary, if gifted, teenager, serving the Eye, when he finds himself kidnapped by a group of rebels, each touched by one of the Powers that rules the world, and each having decided to fight against it. Can he turn against his father figure, Elias, his best friend, Martin, and the world he's known all his life to save the world? Does he even want to?Inspired by the narrative form of She-Ra (2018)Tags will update as new chapters are posted
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

It was rare moments like this that Jon felt fully, truly at peace. Not just pulling one statement after another, digesting them and feeling them, but Seeing. Seeing everything. 

He was aloft in a sea of experience, of knowledge, of pain and fear and it felt wonderful. It hurt and he digested that pain like fine whiskey, letting it burn slowly through him until he was satiated. 

There were the screens, in this room, glowing faintly in the darkness, showing moment after moment of terror, before flickering to another awful specter, and audio flowing through a dozen channels, narration of horror after horror as soothing as the ocean at the beach. 

It didn’t last long enough, though, before Elias put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard, Jon,” he warned, but he was smiling, and Jon smiled back, letting Elias guide him out of the heart of the Eye. As soon as Jon’s feet crossed the threshold, he stumbled, and Elias caught him, supporting him as the wave of disconnection hit.

“I- I…”

“It’s okay, Jon. You did very well.”

Jon managed to smile up at him again, feeling a glow of pride swelling in his chest. Elias was not known for high praise. 

It took a moment before Jon was able to stand on his own, but he still felt weak, lost, and Elias seemed okay to keep a fatherly arm around his shoulders as they made their way out of the Heart. 

“Jonah was right,” Elias continued, “You’re a natural. Certainly fitting of your title.”

“Jewel of The Watcher’s Crown.”

Jon can’t remember much of his childhood, but he remembers the day he was Called to serve the Eye. The Watcher. The Beholding. 

He remembered the finger pointed at him from the strange man, the gasps of his classmates, how his teacher had bowed as he was escorted out. Such a reaction… he was comforted to know he had finally earned such respect. 

“Jewel of the Watcher’s Crown,” Elias echoed, then stopped, turning to face Jon head on. He was several inches taller - the growth spurt Jon had hoped for had never quite happened - and had to lean forward slightly so they were eye to eye. “I am… incredibly proud of you. You’ve come so far, especially in these last few years.”

Jon flushed with praise, but Elias wasn’t done. 

“I have… I have plans for you, Jon. You’re going to do great things one day.”

“Like destroy the rebellion!?”

Elias smiled and brushed a lock of hair from Jon’s face. “Even grander than that, if you can believe it. If you can imagine that.”

“I-”

“But not yet, Jon. I know you’re eager to prove yourself, to push yourself. But your time is still coming. You’re still young, and your destiny does not lie in the destruction of some… petty rebels.” As he spoke, a momentary hardness crossed Elias’s face, a cold, destructive rage that made Jon flinch. 

Seeming to recognize that, Elias softened into another smile. “I need you to trust me, Jon. Train, focus, work on yourself. Your time will come, I promise.”

“I trust you, Elias,” Jon swore, beaming, “I trust you, I just-”

“I know,” said Elias, and they both laughed. Elias knew. He Knew everything, and one day, Jon would too. 

  
*****

Martin was waiting in their cabin when Jon got back, picking at an old tape recorder. He wasn’t a great servant of the Eye, but he was easily Jon’s best friend. 

“Martin!” Jon all but swooned walking in, still dizzy from his turn in the Heart. He collapsed onto his bed and giggled, “Martin, it was amazing!”

“Yeah?” Martin abandoned his tape recorder and pulled his knees to his chest, watching Jon with a mix of eagerness and trepidation. 

“It was… it was so much, but in a good way, you know? I could feel it all, but… but you know how when you’re overwhelmed you don’t feel anything too clearly? I saw, Martin. I mean, I SAW, and I saw everything so clearly, all at once!”

“Was it… was it scary?”

Jon smiled in bliss. “It was terrifying.”

Martin bit his lip. He was such a scaredy-cat sometimes, but Jon liked that about him. He wasn’t good at Seeing, either, not the way they were supposed to. He was smart, and insightful, and could do it, but he didn’t have the strength he needed to, not to properly See the way Elias could, the way Jon would one day. 

“That’s not even the best part! Elias talked to me after, he says he has big plans for me! I think… I think soon I’ll be able to serve the Eye, properly serve it!”

“Oh! Um, Jon, that’s great!”

“Don’t worry,” Jon said, sitting up and reaching across, “You’re coming with me, no matter what.”

But Martin didn’t take his hand, just chewed nervously on his lower lip. It was only then that it occurred to Jon that it was early in the afternoon, and how strange it was that Martin was here at all. 

“Actually, Jon. I, uh. I have something to tell you. P-Peter Lukas came by today. He wanted to talk.”

Jon felt his heart sink. 

“He, uh. He wants me to come with him. To serve, uh. Serve the Lonely.”

“Are you going to?” Jon tried to keep the accusatory bite from his voice, but it was hard. Martin couldn’t  _ leave, _ they were best friends, they were gonna rise together and serve the Eye and rule the world. Together. He couldn’t picture a future without Martin in it, he couldn’t! From the moment he came to the Panopticon, Martin had been there, they had been joined at the hip. 

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” Martin protested, his voice squeaking, “I don’t! But, Jon! What else can I do? I’m not like you, I can’t do half the stuff you do. I’m not special like you.”

“You are!” Jon argued, but he knew it was a lie. Martin was… mediocre. At best. 

“I told Peter I’d think about it,” Martin promised, “I don’t know yet. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“I’ll miss you.”

Martin smiled. “I think that’s the point of the Lonely.”

They both laughed about that.

  
*****  
  


Jon had managed to talk to Martin for a little longer before he nodded off, still exhausted from his experience in the Heart. By the time he woke again, it was dark, Martin was snoring, and there was a note next to his bed that he had missed dinner. 

That was okay. Jon wasn’t hungry, but he did feel energized, alive and awake. He wasn’t about to go back to sleep, he wanted to  _ move _ , find something to do, something to see… or See. 

He put his shoes and jacket on silently and slipped out of the room. Behind him, Martin rolled over and kept softly snoring. 

Ever since Jon turned 16, Elias had allowed him to occasionally leave the Panopticon, just for walks, just to stretch his legs, see the world outside of their “little temple,” as they called it. 

It took Jon about 20 minutes to find an exit, wave to the Doorman, and breathe fresh night air. 

In spite of the late hour, there were still plenty of people making their way up and down the streets of London. They walked quickly, eyes avoiding each other, in twos and threes, gripping each other closely. Jon smiled, taking a deep breath in and out. They were frightened, and even if he couldn’t properly See it, just knowing it was satisfying. 

The cameras followed him as he walked down the street, and the people avoided him like the plague. It felt good. There was a strut to his step as he walked, not with any particular destination in mind. 

Really, aside from the people themselves, there was nothing out here for him. He wasn’t feeling up to hunting for a statement, though he knew he could, with ease. He just walked, feeling like the king of the world. 

He had turned a corner a few blocks from the Panopticon when he became dimly aware he was being followed. Well, that was nothing to be concerned about. It was probably a fan, someone who saw a true Servant of the Eye and wanted a contact to get in. 

He didn’t even think of the rebellion until someone lunged at him from an alley with violence, and he blacked out almost instantly. 

  
*****  
  


“Are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t think to ask for ID.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The kind of heat you’ve brought on us?”

“No. I don’t, and I don’t care.”

Jon stirred, dizzy and confused. He saw… nothing. Something was over his head, something was pressing against his eyes. He tried to move, but he wasn’t able to. He was… he was tied up? Why was he so confused? 

He was sitting, he was sure of that. He couldn’t move his arms, they were… there was something that dug into his wrists. Rope? Was he tied up?

“H-Hello?” he asked, before it could occur to him how helpful it would be to pretend to be unconscious for a little longer. He couldn’t think at all. 

“He’s awake,” said a new voice, “Shut up.”

There was a moment’s silence, then what might have been French? German? 

They were… arguing?

“Help?” Jon asked, trying to turn his head. It didn’t help. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t… See either. There were voices, maybe women’s voices? With different accents? He couldn’t tell.

There was a strange sensation, was a bag pulled off his head? Had one been there in the first place?

“Oh fuck, he’s just a kid.”

“Like you’re much older.”

There was a soft sound Jon couldn’t place, and he managed to ask a proper question, “What’s happening? Where am I?”

“You don’t Know?” The speaker sounded… smug. Yes, Jon could tell that she (and it sounded like a “she”) was decidedly smug. “Poor boy, all cut off from your Master, must be so  _ scared. _ ”

“Who are you?” Jon demanded, trying to put an edge into his voice. He was nobody to be trifled with, he was strong, a noble Servant of the Eye and he would  _ not _ be intimidated.

There was the sound of footsteps, a faint protest from someone who wasn’t the smug woman, and suddenly Jon felt the pressure of someone being very much in his personal space. 

“Melanie King,” she said, like she was gloating, “do you know who I am now?”

Jon’s mind spun, trying to remember. He had heard that name before, where… “The traitor!” he exclaimed, “You’re the traitor!”

A hand touched his face roughly, digging into the blindfold (he had been blindfolded!) and ripping it away. 

He blinked at the sudden brightness, then flinched at the sight of a pair of empty eye sockets staring at him. 

There was a cruel laugh to his side, he turned his head to see a young woman sitting on what looked like an old desk. There was a malicious glint in her eyes. Behind Melanie was another woman, leaning against the stone wall, squinting at the scene.

He didn’t want to look at Melanie King, the horrid twists and curls of scar tissue that decorated her empty eye sockets, her smug grin. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked the woman leaning on the wall, “If he has any connection-”

“He doesn’t,” Melanie said, “Do you?”

“I-”

“Do you recognize him, Daisy?”

The cruel woman tilted her head, looking like a cat about to pounce as she studied Jon’s face. “No. He someone special?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Melanie said, and her companions both sucked in a breath. “The Jewel of the Watcher’s Crown, hm? A special little boy.”

“I’m not that little,” Jon protested, of all things, “You’re barely older than I am!”

The cruel woman, Daisy, laughed at that too. 

“Shut up,” Melanie snapped, backing away. “What are we gonna do with him? Elias is gonna want him back, we can’t keep him.”

“Keep me?” Jon sputtered.

“Shut up,” advised Melanie, “Daisy, what were you thinking?”

Daisy shrugged. “I just saw a snotty kid and wanted to knock him down a peg.” She pulled out a knife, balancing its weight in her hand. “We could just… disconnect him?”

Before Jon could let out a squeak of terror, Melanie shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. He’d have to want it, like I did.” She smiled. “Not that I don’t want to, just for fun.”

“He’s a kid, Melanie,” said the third woman. Jon looked at her imploringly, but her pity seemed to cover little more than not mutilating a teenager. “What if… what if we did what we did with Sasha?”

“Turn him?”

“It worked for her, didn’t it? And I know Tim is getting antsy. He could use a job.”

“What?” Jon asked anxiously, “What are you going to do to me?”

The third woman approached him, her eyes narrowed. “You hear about everyone’s pain, don’t you? Working for the Eye. You consume it, it fuels you, and you don’t even recognize the evil you’re part of.”

“I-”

“Well, your Eye can’t see you now. When you hear our pain, you’re going to feel it. You’re going to understand exactly what you’re part of. No wool over your eyes, no filter, nothing. You’re going to know exactly the hell your lot have put us through and get nothing in return.”

“I-”

“And then we’re going to let you go, okay?”

“What?”

She glowered. “You’re going to have to make a choice, Jon. We’re giving you a benefit of doubt you don’t deserve. Once you learn what’s really going on, you get to choose. You go back to the Eye, you keep doing what you were doing, or stay with us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon may have Seen what horrors lie across the world, but he doesn't understand what it truly means to be afraid
> 
> Tim, an Avatar of the Spiral, will show him, and give him a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're playing fast and loose with canon, dearies, idk what to tell you
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Canon-typical fear/trauma directed at a teenager

At first, it wasn’t much of a rebellion at all. It was just Melanie, on the run, newly blind, and Georgie, who hadn’t so much run away as merely wandered off. 

They had made fast friends; Georgie wasn’t scared of anything, and Melanie was too angry to be properly afraid. It wasn’t until they met Basira that either of them thought of doing anything more than simply hiding. 

And now there were 6 of them, six of them, each divorced from or traitors to their respective powers, and a handful of would-be victims they kept sheltered. Now they were slowly becoming a force to be reckoned with. A rebellion that actually needed quashing, and as much as it scared Melanie, it excited her all the same. 

She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t planned anything, really, she had been running on anger and spite and fury and rage and other synonyms for anger. 

But now… now her anger had a direction, a target, and his name was Elias Bouchard. 

He would pay. For everything. All the people he had hurt, all the pain he had caused. And now, Melanie could see the formings of an actual plan. 

Yeah, it was reckless as hell, it might even be the thing that finally killed them all, as Georgie reminded her. But damn, taking a risk like that felt good for once. Melanie felt alive. 

She sat in front of the yellow door, waiting patiently to see what would come out from the other side.

  
******  
  


Jon was running as fast as he could through the maze, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn’t really athletic, and it hurt to run, but the fear if he stopped hurt all the more.

Fear had never felt like this, never. It had never felt like a helplessness, like a loss of control. It had never felt like his legs burning and his chest hurting as his heart struggled to keep him running. 

He rounded a corner too sharply and slipped, rolling into the wall. The thump hurt, and jostled one of the mirrors. Jon yelped and curled up as it fell on him, shattering. 

“Oopsie!” 

The voice was bright, sing-song, just on the menacing side of friendly. Jon lifted his head enough to see his tormentor, a man named Tim. 

“Careful now,” he said, bending down and offering Jon a hand. 

Over the hours, Jon had learned better than to take it, and stood up on his own instead. 

“Well,” Tim said, “You’ve certainly had your fill of the ole Spiral. What next, do you think? What’s your favourite fear? The Buried? The Flesh? Ooo, I’ve had a fun idea for the Slaughter I’ve been meaning to build out.”

Jon wiped his tears away. His body hurt, and his senses were still befuddled, like he had to learn how to see all over again. He tried to focus on Tim, to look at the shapes and colors and match them to forms and objects. 

Smarmy grin. Hands curled into… finger guns. Bright shirt, like a tropical button down. It was all he could manage before a hand hit him on the shoulder. 

“You okay, kiddo?’

“No!” Jon’s voice broke from the scream, and he drew in a shuddering breath.

“Good.” The menace was back in Tim’s voice, lurking behind that wide smile. “You’d better not be okay, here.”

Jon tried to think, tried to recover his voice. “That one lady said once you were done torturing me, you’d ask me to join you. Why the hell would I do that? Is this supposed to convince me?”

The smile faded, and Tim tilted his head. “You know what, that’s a very good point. That’s a very good point, Jonny-boy. Why don’t we fix that? Let me convince you.”

There was a door at the end of the hallway, and Jon didn’t want to walk through it. He didn’t want to see what was on the other side. 

He didn’t just feel afraid. He felt threatened, he felt unsafe. He felt like he might die on the other side of that door. 

But where else could he go?

It was made of heavy oak, with a dingy brass handle. Jon pushed it open and walked through. 

Instantly, he was in Edinburgh, it was late at night, and he was just leaving a pub behind him. 

“Sarah!” laughed a woman behind him, and he turned to see she was addressing him. “Sarah nooo, don’t go!”

Jon looked down at himself, and saw that… he was no longer himself. He knew where he was, he knew this scene. He was Sarah Baldwin, now. 

The woman had thrown herself into his, Sarah’s arms, and Jon (Sarah?) laughed while shoving her off. “Come off it,” he said, in Sarah’s voice, “I’m just gonna have a smoke.”

The woman booed, but Jon-as-Sarah waved her off and walked a distance away, pulling out a pack and a lighter. 

Jon tried to keep his hands still, he knew what happened next, but he was helpless as he clicked the lighter and lit his cigarette. He could taste the nicotine and smoke and tar, and exhaled, relaxing. 

“Can I have a cigarette?” 

Jon-as-Sarah turned to the dark alley, to see a figure there, swaying in the shadows, completely in the dark. 

_ Run _ Jon urged,  _ run as far away as you can _ , but what came out of his mouth were Sarah’s words, “What the hell?”

“Can I have a cigarette?”

Jon knew he should run, he knew what was coming next, but that wasn’t how this story played out. He knew what was coming next. 

He didn’t watch, he felt, he experienced as Sarah’s eyes rolled, as she called the shadow a creep, as she pulled out a cigarette. 

But it wasn’t just her. Jon was taking an involuntary step, cigarette outstretched in offering.

It happened so fast, but Jon perceived every detail. The grip upon his-as-Sarah’s wrist, the agony as his, as Sarah’s skin was pulled away, in one clean motion, every single cell ripped apart, the flaming agony, the scream that could not form, the blood that never even hit the ground. The awareness that was between life and death, the feeling of being an empty flesh puppet for an ungodly choir, the way his, that Sarah’s screaming voice harmonized into the song.

In that moment, Jon understood that there were fates worse than death. 

When Tim opened a door, he went through.

On the other side, he was himself again, he was Jon again, skin whole and intact, and he wept with relief, falling to his knees. 

Tim seemed to show mercy, he sat next to Jon and waited patiently for it to end. 

“Well,” he said, when Jon’s sniffles had stopped, “That was one. How many statements have you fed on in your lifetime? How many more experiences do you need to understand?”

Jon pushed himself into a sitting position as well, across from Tim, and glared at him, eyes still puffy and red. “I don’t understand anything,” he snapped, “All that was was just more torture.”

Tim glared at him, then paused. Took a breath. “No, you don’t,” he said, finally, “And that didn’t make you.”

There was something funny in his tone, something Jon couldn’t quite place. He stood abruptly, and held out a hand to Jon. “Walk with me. Let’s see if I can help you understand.”

This time, Jon accepted it, and he stood safely, coming to no harm. 

They walked along the now-familiar corridors side by side for some time, and it seemed like Tim was struggling to find the words. Jon let him contemplate in silence, grateful he wasn’t being chased or skinned alive for the moment. 

“You know how The Eye rules the world, right? And the other fourteen powers rule under it?”

“According to Smirke’s categorization,” Jon agreed, but Tim waved him off.

“The Eye… the Eye is the Watcher, it sees all, it knows all. The other fourteen, they scare the living shit out of the poor souls still alive, and the Eye drinks that fear in, right? And you and your lot, you get these statements, you read them, and in your reading the Eye can drink.”

“Yeah?” This was pretty obvious to Jon. 

“But you never actually feel fear.”

“What? Yes I do!”

“No, you don’t,” Tim insisted, “Look, I’m a servant of the Spiral. I can create any number of impossible mazes for you to run around in, but the mazes, they’re just me. I can never be scared of my own creation, not properly, because I always know the exits. I always know the path.”

“But I don’t create the statements I read.”

“No, but the fear you feel when you read them isn’t the same.” Tim stopped and gestured, “Look, when you’re reading, are you ever at any real risk? Are you ever in danger? Can the words on the page hurt you, the way the people you’re reading about are getting hurt?”

“But-”

“No, this is important. When you serve the Watcher, when you drink your fears, you’re only getting a small fraction of the true fear those people are going through. You’re safe in your little tower while they’re fighting for their lives!”

Jon frowned, and suddenly realized that Tim was barely older than he was.

“I don’t understand.”

“Sarah Baldwin,” Tim said, and Jon could see he was getting agitated, “You read her statement, yeah? You knew everything that had happened to her! You had felt that fear before, so why was it different when you did it again just now?”

Jon frowned, and tried to think. He had felt differently, hadn’t he? Not the soothing fear he had grown up with, but… “I felt threatened,” he said softly, “I felt… I felt like I was going to die.”

“And you never feel that with statements,” Tim prompted, and Jon shook his head. “Sarah is one of millions who’ve suffered like this under the Eye. That fear for your life, of becoming something inhuman, of loosing yourself… you can’t empathize if you only read the statements. When you do that… you’re still safe. No matter how scary it might be to read, you can always put down the paper and walk away. Sarah didn’t have that luxury. Most people don’t.”

Jon didn’t say anything, just stared down the corridor, with its mirrors and paintings and ugly wallpaper and boring carpet. How many people had been chased down these halls the way he had? 

“Look, Jon, I don’t think there’s any point in traumatizing you any further,” said Tim in a low voice. “If… if you want to leave, you can leave.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup. That’s what the plan was. I’d chase you around, confront you with the cost of your actions, and then… give you a choice.”

There were two doors on the wall. One was made of heavy steel, with a massive locking mechanism. Jon wasn’t sure if it could open all the way in the narrow hallway, assuming it swung outward. 

The other was a door he recognized, made of oak and cloudy glass, to Elias’s office. 

“That one will take you home,” Tim promised, poking the shiny brass handle. Through the glass, Jon swore he could see a shadow move, as if Elias was pacing. “No strings attached, no retribution. You’ve already seen some of us, you could use what you know and remember to hunt us down, even, if you want.

“And that one?”

“That one will take you back to our hideout. The Eye can’t see us there, not clearly anyway. Walk through, and we’ll accept you into our ranks.”

“And then what?”

“And then we work together to topple the Eye and put the world back in its place.” There was a venom in Tim’s voice, a note of malicious glee.

Jon rested his hand on the familiar brass doorknob. It would be so easy to go back to the world he knew, where fear and pain were as easy and simple as breathing, where he could drink it all in and felt stronger for it. He swore he could hear Elias’s voice from the other side, and was overwashed with the sudden ability to see and hear clearly again, like he had finally cleared water out of his ears. 

He looked up at Tim, and realized for the second time how  _ young _ he was. Maybe 18? No older than 20. He leaned against the wall, hands pushed in the pockets of his jeans, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that betrayed every other element of “carefree” baked into his appearance. His hair was dark and overlong, he dressed like a cross between a tourist and a skater, one eyebrow was pierced, but his face held a bone-deep weariness that came from… well, Jon could imagine it now. 

There was no judgement, no malice in his expression as he watched Jon consider his options, and Jon knew instinctively that there was no trick, no lie. 

This was worse than that. This was a choice. 

“Back in its place,” he echoed, frowning. “You said put the world back in its place.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tim frowned, looking genuinely taken aback. “What do you mean? Don’t you remember the Change?”

Jon shook his head, keeping his grip on the brass knob, watching Tim’s every microexpression as he considered. 

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“That’s… you should remember… it was only about 8 years or so ago…”

“Remember what?” Jon didn’t know why his heart was racing, why his legs were trembling. He wasn’t good at Compelling people, not yet, and he wasn’t really connected to the Eye at all now, but he tried, putting as much force as he could into his words, “ **Tell me!** ”

Tim flinched, but it was impossible to say if it was because he felt the Eye or just because Jon had yelled. “Before! There was a before, Jon! It used to be, god, there used to be a world without spooks around every corner, without monsters lurking in every shadow. People did… well, they just did their own thing. They didn’t worry about the Powers or the Eye or any big scheme, they just… I don’t know. They did their jobs, and met their friends and went shopping and traveled, and whatever else they wanted. There were no servants to powers, sure, maybe there were a few avatars, but nothing like now.”

He turned and pointed back the way they had came. “Didn’t it strike you as odd that Sarah was okay just wandering down Fishmarket Close on her own? Nobody with her, no fear or anxiety about what was lurking in the shadows? Didn’t it seem odd to you that she didn’t see that coming?”

Jon frowned. “I-”

“Her story happened years ago, it happened before the Change!”

“What was the change?!”

Tim scowled, shaking his head in frustration, “Nobody knows for sure, nobody except your buddy Elias. I don’t know, I was a kid. I spent a year in the Dark, running from monsters until I opened the wrong door. I came… I came into my own here, until I was a force to be reckoned with on my own. Until I had enough power to be myself again. Then… I met Melanie and Georgie.”

Jon stared through the clouded glass of Elias’s office door. 

“Can you really undo it?”

It didn’t seem real, it felt too big, too impossible. How could anyone just… upend the world? How could anything actually change? 

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted, “I… I almost don’t think so.”

“But that’s part of the choice,” Jon sighed, “Isn’t it? Stay safe and observe, or take a risk?”

“Yup.” Tim patted his shoulder. “Look, none of us would blame you for going back. Our path isn’t easy, and you’re still a kid. Melanie might gripe, but nobody has half her grit, especially not you. Hell, even if this works it might kill all of us that are too connected to any Power.”

“Will I… will I have to blind myself too?”

“No. No, most of them are still connected to their Power, like me. You can, but that has to be your choice.” He cleared his throat. “It’ll only work if its your choice.”

Jon held very still for a very long time. 

He let go of the doorknob, and it felt like he was pushing his head underwater again. Tim became a blur of shapes and colors he didn’t fully understand, but that didn’t matter. 

The steel door was heavy, the bolt was sticky and didn’t seem to want to unlock. 

“Are you sure?” Tim asked, “No turning back.”

Jon wasn’t sure. He was scared, he was upset, he was alone. But this decision wasn’t about certainty. It was about right and wrong. He couldn’t go back to enjoying fear like it was some kind of meal, not at the cost of the trauma and pain that was being inflicted. 

“I’m sure,” he said, and opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is more than welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing back at the Panopticon, for better or worse. Meanwhile, Jon and the Rebellion are planning their next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> Implied child abuse, character having a panic attack

Martin was tall enough for his feet to rest firmly on the ground as he sat outside Elias’s office, but deep down, he still felt so small, like his feet were swinging miles above an endless abyss. 

He stared at his hands and tried his best not to eavesdrop, but neither Elias nor Peter were making any particular effort to keep their voices down. How long had they been arguing? It felt like hours, but it couldn’t be. It was only this morning that Elias had woken him up, furious that he couldn’t See Jon anymore. 

His shoulder still ached from when Elias had dragged him here. Jon may have been Elias’s favourite, but it was no secret that Martin was on the other end of the scale. And it wasn’t a surprise as to why, either. Martin just… wasn’t good at anything.

“Where did he go!?” Elias had demanded, his face inches from Martin’s, “He never would have left without telling you!”

“He did!’ Martin had cried, cowering in the corner, trying so hard to turn away, “I don’t know! He was still asleep at lights-out, and when I woke up, he was gone!”

And now he was here, sitting while Elias and Peter argued over his fate. Finally, he had a moment to sit with his own feelings, and realize just how much it hurt that Jon had… left him. 

No, no, that couldn’t be it. Jon would never leave him, even Elias knew that. Jon was his best friend, if he was going somewhere, he would bring Martin, right? Or at least tell him?

He held back a sob. 

How typical, he reflected to himself, classic Martin, scared and crying in the halls over something so small as Jon being gone. Hell, he was probably… Martin didn’t know. Jon was probably on some top secret Eye mission, some big destiny thing Martin couldn’t even comprehend. For all he knew, this was just a farce for some cover story.

It still hurt though. 

*****

“A deal is a deal, Elias,” Peter said, his chest puffed with the resolute calmness of a man who knows he’s untouchable, “I don’t see how your situation changes anything.”

“Peter,” Elias growled in a low tone. 

“You’ve really been hemorrhaging Avatars lately, haven’t you? Jon makes three, doesn’t he?”

“I’ll get him back.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident. If that’s the case, Martin and I-”

“No, no, absolutely not! The deal is off, Peter!” Elias slammed his hands into the desk. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Elias, please. From what you’ve told me, Martin is only a half-assed backup at best. He’s not fit to be your Archivist, even if you can’t find Jon. There must be other candidates?”

“It’s not just that,” Elias said, shaking his head, “Martin is… well, if those rebels decide to… to corrupt Jon-” he shuddered, “-then Martin might be able to pull him back into the Eye’s light.”

“Poetic.” Peter pulled out a pocket watch and checked it. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been a fan of poetry. Good luck finding your missing Avatar, Elias, I have work to do.”

“Peter!” But Peter was already leaving the office. “Damn.”

Elias heard him talking with Martin, heard the faint whine of static, and then there was nothing. He swore again, slamming a fist against his desk. What had happened to Jon? Where had he gone?

He heard the static again, this time from behind him, and braced himself. This never got any more pleasant to experience.

It was like his spinal cord was being pulled like a lamp string, jerking his head back and up. He gripped his desk to hold steady, and listened. 

_ So. You lost another Avatar. _

Elias didn’t so much hear Jonah’s voice as experience it, feel it echo through his brain like a parasite.

“I-I’ll get him back,” he stammered, struggling against the bone deep revulsion he got from thoughts that were not his. Technically, he didn’t need to speak aloud at all for Jonah to Hear him, but it helped. 

_ No. You won’t. _

“I can, I just need time. He can’t have gone far-”

Elias gasped in pain as the static intensified.  _ No. You won’t. You’ll find a replacement for him. There can be no delays in our next phase. _

“None- none of the others have even a fraction of the potential-”

_ You will find a solution. Do not make me regret trusting you with this task, Elias. _

“No, no, of course not-”

_ I see all, Elias. Never forget that. _

“No, no, sir, of course no-”

_ Dismissed. _

The static cut out abruptly, and Elias fell. When had he started standing? His fingernails had dug marks into his desk. 

His head was pounding, and he very nearly threw up. How pathetic, how  _ human _ of him. No, he wasn’t human any longer.

He swallowed his pitiful flesh reactions and stormed out of his office. He had work to do. 

  
*****

“Okay, try Melanie now.”

Jon squinted at the figure Georgie was pointing at, trying to reconcile shape and color into recognizable traits. He could tell who Melanie was even without her help, but it was… helpful. 

A lot of his words had left him over the past few days. He needed a thesaurus. 

“Okay,” he said, “She has… hair.”

“Astute.”

“It’s dark, but blue at the ends. She has it up in two, uh, lumps?” He gestured to the top of his head.

“They’re called buns, Jon.”

“Buns. And she’s wearing… dark sunglasses.”

“And the rest of her face?”

“She has one.”

Georgie punched him in the arm. “Come on, details! You can do it!”

Jon rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. “She’s white. Her nose is… small. Her ears have silver bits on them, earrings, right? She looks tired and there are little red dots on her chin - oh, they’re zits. 

“Hey!” Melanie yelled from across the room where she had been discussing next moves with Basira, “Do you two have to do that?”

“Sorry!” Georgie laughed, “But Jon has to practice on something!”

“Make him practice on you!”

Jon felt himself smiling, laughing along with Georgie. He looked at her and tried to see her properly too. 

“Did you notice anything else about her though?” Georgie asked. 

“Um…”

“Like that she’s pretty?”

“Oh, um, I- um, I didn’t, uh-”

But he was cut off by Georgie laughing again, smacking him across the stomach and throwing her head back. “Your face! Oh, you get so  _ pink _ when you’re embarrassed!”

“I’m, uh, even before…” Jon’s hands were sweaty, he suddenly couldn’t look at anyone, anywhere, and the words came out before he could stop them, “I noticed  _ you _ were pretty.”

Georgie snorted and pushed him away. “Okay, you big flirt.”

There was the creaking of a rusty door hinge behind them, and Tim stepped out of a door that hadn’t been there before. “Hey, you lot,” he announced, “Am I late for our meeting?”

“No, no,” Melanie said, “We’re just waiting on Daisy. Is Sasha coming?”

Tim was quiet for a pause, before admitting, “I don’t know. I… she didn’t want to go through the door.”

There was a pause Jon didn’t fully understand, Basira looked at Tim, Tim looked at Georgie, Georgie looked at Melanie and Melanie didn’t look at anyone, but there was a mutual understanding Jon wasn’t privy to. 

“Well,” Melanie finally said, “I guess we’re just waiting on Daisy.”

Tim made his way in, joining Basira and Melanie, and Jon took his chance to ask Georgie, “Who’s Sasha?”

“It’s a long story.” Georgie was frowning. “She was… pulled in by the Stranger, so she’s not really Sasha anymore, but she is, in a way.”

“Like, a corrupted version, or-”

“Look, it’s not really my place to tell,” Georgie said with a nod, and Jon followed her gaze. She was frowning specifically at Tim. “It’s complicated, but what matters is she’s on our side.”

“Oh- okay.”

Georgie patted him on the shoulder and hopped off the- it was a table, maybe? That they had been sitting on. She joined the others at what was definitely some kind of table where they began chatting, and Jon felt very lonely. 

He didn’t really belong with this group, did he? They didn’t trust him, he wasn’t like them, he could barely make out what he was seeing.

“Sulking about something?” asked someone from directly behind him, and Jon yelped in alarm.

It was just Daisy, laughing at her own prank while Jon tried to compose himself. The others waved at her arrival, and she wrapped an unfriendly arm around Jon, guiding him to join their huddle at the table. 

He stood opposite Basira, and took the moment to try and study her as well. Of all of the group, he knew her the least. She was a little older, maybe Tim’s age? She looked… serious. 

That was all he managed to interpret before Melanie cleared her throat and the meeting began in earnest. 

“All right,” she started, “We’ve got a few changes ‘round here. We all know most of them, but I’m gonna go over them one more time, just to make sure we’re all up to spec. First of all, Jon’s with us now. He’s still connected to the Eye, but he’s gonna work with us to take it down.”

The table turned to look at him.

“You know me, Georgie, Basira, Daisy, and Tim?” Melanie asked, and Jon anxiously nodded. “Good. Second, Basira, Daisy, you two have been doing some scouting?”

“Up near the Panopticon,” Daisy confirmed with a nod, and Jon had to admit hearing about his home made his heart sink. “There’s been an increase of activity and surveillance, if you can believe that. Apparently everyone in London has been asked about where they were the night Jon went missing.”

“Nothing points to us yet,” Basira added, “Not exactly. They suspect we’re behind it, but they don’t know where we are or even who did anything. But I think they’re going to up the pressure soon, they’re building up to something.”

“Tim?” Melanie asked, “Hear anything funny at any keyholes?”

“I always hear funny things at keyholes,” Tim promised, “But Basira’s right, Elias is planning something big. I don’t know that it’s about us, though.”

“How so?”

“Well, I keep hearing bits and pieces about a replacement. They need someone to fill the role of Archivist.”

Jon gasped, feeling a bit faint. Archivist?  _ Archivist _ ? That’s what Elias had been training him for? That was what his destiny was supposed to be?

“Jon?” It was… Georgie’s voice, “You okay?”

“I- I-”

“You didn’t know?” Melanie’s voice this time? 

“What’s the big deal? What’s so special about being the Archivist?”

“Jon?”

“It’s like, the biggest role possible under the Eye. The Archivist can have nearly limitless power, See absolutely anything, Know everything, all the time.” Melanie must be explaining, but Jon was backing away from the table. “There hasn’t been one in ages, not since Gertrude Robinson passed away. They say she was the one who brought about the Change.”

“Jon?”

“And what, that was supposed to be Jon?”

“Jon, are you okay?”

“Looks like.”

“If the Change has already happened, why do they need another one?”

“Oh for fucks’ sake, you two, look at him!”

There was silence for a moment. Jon’s head was swimming. Someone was touching his arm, and he was walking backwards, and he was sitting down. 

“Hey, hey, buddy, you okay?”

Something was waved in front of his eyes, a hand? There was a sound, someone snapping their fingers?

“Yeah,” he managed, “Yeah, I’m…”

He heard someone speaking, then whoever was in front of him- Georgie?- snapped, “He’s in shock, give him a minute. Jon, deep breaths, okay?”

It took a moment, but Jon felt his muscles relax, started to perceive Georgie again, then the others. They shared a look of concern. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Adapting is… tough,” Melanie conceded, “Trust me, I know.” She waved a hand in front of her face and forced a smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

“If you never need a room to throw things,” Tim offered, “I can be a room to throw things.”

“Or if you need someone to beat up, I can bring you someone,” suggested Daisy, earning her a cuff on the head. 

“You good?” asked Georgie, helping him back to the table.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Nobody ever mentioned anything to you about this?” Melanie asked, gently prying, “Look, I know you’re going through a lot, but this is important.”

“Nobody ever talked about the Archivist, except about Gertrude,” Jon responded, thinking hard, “I know she… she had been very important, and that she died. Elias… Elias said Jonah had big plans for me, but never that-”

It was Melanie’s turn to gasp. “Jonah? Jonah  _ Magnus _ noticed you?”

“Elias said he did.”

“Jesus… I thought he was a myth.”

“No, he’s the head of the Panopticon. Elias directs it, but Jonah’s in charge.”

Basira frowned. “You’re on first-name terms with the two biggest figures to serve under the Eye?”

“Uh-” 

“Not important,” Melanie interrupted, “If Jonah is real, if the Archivist is coming back, this changes everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and all your lovely comments!!! I never realized the absolute joy of people liking my work til now.
> 
> As always, feel free to share any comments, concerns, critique, or other feedback. I'm only a person and have to deal with the side effects.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin settles into his new life, and Jon finds himself on a new journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings

Compared to the Panopticon, the Lukas estate was… nice. It was genuinely nice. Big sweeping lawns that sloped gently to a gravelly beach one way and into a dense forest the other way. Martin wasn’t exactly sure where in England it was, or even if it was in the UK at all, but it was nice. A bit cold, maybe vaguely unwelcoming, but nice. 

The manor was massive, all grey brick and dull wood and colorless wallpaper. Martin was given his own room, complete with a private bathroom. 

Well, it wasn’t just a bedroom. At least three times the size of his quarters at the Panopticon, it had a bed and dresser, but also a roaring fireplace that never ran out of wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a cluster of soft, cushy couches and chairs, an oversized desk, every personal luxury Martin could imagine. It would be more suitable as a master suite than just for him.

But the young housekeeper that had shown him here had been quite insistent that it was for him. 

There were clothes in the closet that fit him, tailored grey formalwear. Tea was brought to his room in the afternoon, made just the way he liked it. When he made his way to the dining room, his meals were ready. He had free range to go where he wanted, when he wanted. 

There were others living at the estate as well, and a considerable staff, but Martin would be damned to catch more than a glance of any of them. He’d see a young girl in formalwear similar to his, or an older gentleman in black tie, but as soon as he turned back, they’d be gone. 

He took his time exploring the grounds, then the house. Aside from the long winding trail into the estate, he couldn’t find any boundary to the property. The forest simply… carried on. 

It was very lonely. 

Not boring, though, never quite boring. There were always nooks and crannies to discover, the books in his room were interesting to read. But it was a vicious cycle, he’d find something new, he’d read something interesting, and then there’d be… nobody to talk to about it. 

Very lonely.

The days blurred together, Martin settling into a cozy routine, until he was interrupted by Peter Lukas sitting at the dining room table when he came down for dinner. 

In spite of the number of people that must have been living in that house, Martin had never seen another soul here, and he  _ knew _ this was the only dining room. He froze at the threshold, but Peter smiled genially and stood, inviting him in. 

“Martin!” he greeted, “Good to see you! Are you settling in okay?”

“Um, Mr. Lukas-”

“Peter, please.”

“Peter, I…” Martin trailed off, unsure of what he was going to ask. Peter himself merely nodded invitingly, gesturing to Martin’s usual chair. “I wasn’t expecting you,” Martin finished lamely.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Peter smiled, “But you know how life gets, sometimes you just get… busy.”

Martin took his seat. Dinner was roasted salmon and risotto. “Serving the Lonely?”

“Something like that.”

“And that’s something you want me to do?”

Peter sat back and sighed, picking up his fork and knife. “It’s not as simple as that, Martin. You came here willingly enough, sure, but with Elias snapping at your heels like that, I can hardly blame you. I wouldn’t blame you if you followed me into the Lonely and back, just to get away from that wretched bastard.”

Martin stared at his plate, feeling his appetite slowly slip away. He didn’t want to think about what Peter was talking about. 

“But that’s not what I want, Martin,” Peter said soothingly, “I don’t want you to think you have to follow me any further than you have. In fact, if you want, feel free to make your way down to the garage, take a car, head on out. Go find your friends again.”

“You mean Jon.”

“If you want.”

“But… he’s missing.”

“Hm.”

Martin felt himself growing agitated, “Do you know where he is?!”

“Not in the slightest. And I don’t really care. Another teenage runaway, what difference does it make? Do you want to leave? Go find him?”

It was just the little needle Martin didn’t want to think about. The memory he was trying so hard not to remember, that might have even been a dream. He remembered waking up to the sound of Jon putting his shoes on, seeing him turn around, look back, and leave in the middle of the night, and not come back. 

His stomach turned, his fists clenched, and he had to force himself to calm down, just as he had when Elias had questioned him. 

He hadn’t shared that tidbit, he had kept it to himself. Maybe Elias had pulled it from his mind anyway. He’d never know if he had.

“No,” he admitted, “No, I don’t.”

He picked at his dinner, and Peter smiled. 

*****

Not for the first time, Jon threw up violently over the railing, letting what was left of his breakfast join the dark sea. Daisy came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Awww, still getting your sea legs?”

“Shut up.”

“Mmm, and breakfast was so good, too!” she cooed, “Nice greasy bacon and runny eggs!”

“Shut up!” Jon groaned. Out of the tunnels, he could see clearly again, and understand what he was looking at. And tasting. And smelling. And feeling, as the ship pitched up and down over the waves. 

“Daisy,” called Basira, “Quit harassing the poor boy.”

“Please!” Jon begged.

“Ugh, was Jon sick again?” called Melanie, her cane tapping away as she made her way onto the deck.

Daisy ruffled his hair, Jon swatted her hand away and wiped his mouth clean. “I don’t understand how you’re not sick,” he retorted, “How does not seeing make you less susceptible?”

Melanie simply smiled and tapped the rim of her tinted glasses, “I’m just that good.”

“I guess he didn’t  _ see  _ it coming,” Daisy crowed, and Basira snapped at her again. 

“Come on, lay off him,” she sighed, stepping away from her perch at the bow. She asked Melanie, “Does Georgie need relief?”

“No, no. I just needed to make sure you were all playing nice.” She turned towards Jon, “Can you tell if Elias is Watching you from here?”

Jon shrugged one shoulder. “I’m having trouble concentrating,” he admitted, glaring at Daisy. 

“Well, try harder. If this goes screwy because of you, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Basira took pity on him again. “Come sit at the front, Jon. It’ll be easier on your stomach.”

He obeyed, taking a seat on the prow beside her, legs folded, back straight. In the background, he could hear Daisy and Melanie quibbling, but mostly he heard the thrum of the engine, the sound of the waves crashing against the bow, the rushing of the wind against his ears. With his eyes closed, he could feel the boat rocking up and down, up and down, but Basira was right, it wasn’t that bad. 

He focused as best he could. It had been a few days since they left the tunnels, made their way across the dockyards, and out to open sea. The ship they had used (stolen? He didn’t want to know) was small and made of metal, not fiberglass, of a completely unfamiliar design. 

In the time since, he had been trying to See like he used to, with mixed results. He could literally see and perceive properly now, recognize shapes and colors as what they were, faces and objects and such. Sometimes he could Know things, almost at random, fun facts that were usually irrelevant to what he was trying to think about. 

Actual, proper Sight had eluded him thus far, but the sound and motion of the boat, the cool wind, the smell of saltwater, it helped him slip into a near-meditative trance. 

He breathed in and out, nice and slow. His body was just a body, his eyes were only eyes, but even closed, they could still see. He could still see.

He could See the Panopticon. He could See… people, coming and going through London, up and down the tower, busy, busy, always busy, always watched. He could See Elias’s office, comforting and familiar, like a home. His heart ached, and the emotion made his Vision falter. He gathered himself and Looked again, Looked closer, not at Elias, but through him…

Seeing into someone’s mind was always dicey, the brain didn’t work like the physical world and couldn’t be perceived in the same way. Jon had had very little experience or training in it before he left. He tried to search, but it wasn’t like looking through a desk drawer. Elias wasn’t currently thinking about him, in fact, he was dwelling on Gertrude Robinson, he was thinking about… about a new Archivist, now that Jon was gone. 

Jon’s concentration was broken as the ship crashed down against another wave, his head clunking against the railing. 

The sky was dark and Basira wasn’t next to him anymore - how long had he been sitting out there? The ship pitched violently again, and he yelped, trying to stand. 

Thunder cracked across the sky. 

“What’s happening?” Jon yelled, “Basira? Daisy?”

Nobody was out on deck, the sea was rough, and Jon’s legs were full of pins and needles as he tried to stand, gripping the railing. 

“Basira!? Melanie!?”

Nobody answered, but the bow broke another wave violently, water splashing over the deck. It was freezing, and Jon yelped. 

_ If I try to stand or walk, I increase my risk of being thrown overboard. _

Well, at least he could Know a bit more on how to be safer. “Hello!?” he roared, deciding to crouch down and grip the railing with both hands. “Daisy? Melanie!?”

Slowly, awkwardly, he began to shuffle towards the cabin doors. They must be belowdecks, that was all. The rain began in earnest, and the thunder roared again. 

_ Tropical squalls may be a common threat for experienced sailors, but can still result in deadly shipwrecks if not taken seriously. _

That was not a fun fact. “Help!” he yelled, and finally got a response. 

“Jon!?” Daisy was standing in the doorway, she turned around and hollered, “Fucking hell, he’s out on deck still!”

“Daisy!”

“You’re getting soaked!” she yelled, stepping forward to offer him a hand, “Come on, get in here!”

“Daisy, no!”

But it was too late, the ship rocked violently, Daisy let out an uncharacteristic shriek and in the blink of an eye, she was carried off the deck. 

“ _ MAN OVERBOARD,” _ Jon yelled as he Knew the first steps for an emergency like this, and before he could even see if anyone had heard him, he had taken one, two, three steps and dove into the stormy sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by: Me having absolutely no knowledge of boats
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Any feedback, good or bad is more than welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's impulsive rescue attempt comes with consequences. Elias plans his next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: drowning, near death experience, referenced torture

The world was quiet here. 

Dark, empty, almost peaceful. 

But cold. It was so cold. Daisy couldn’t breathe, it was so cold. Her hands flailed, there was no up, no down, no purpose to her motions. She opened her mouth, but no scream came out.

*****

The cold shocked Jon to his core as his head hit the water. He couldn’t see Daisy, he couldn’t see anything! What had he done!? Would he drown out here!?

_ When thrown overboard, kick off your shoes. When waterlogged, they will only drag you down. _

Well, that was a good start. It would be a bitch to find replacements, but better barefoot than dead, right? He kicked them off and continued kicking, trying to dive deeper, trying to see in the dark.

_ Daisy can swim, but does not know how to survive being thrown overboard. She does not know how to cope with the disorientation. _

Okay, so she might not know which way to swim to get back above the surface. She might not know which way to go, underwater in the dark, it wasn’t clear which way was up. But she had fallen not far near here, unless she was a particularly strong swimmer-

Guided by instinct, Jon’s hand hit something, something fleshy, and not warm, but not as frozen as the water around him. He grabbed it, trusting himself.

_ Bubbles always rise to the surface _

He let himself exhale, and could see which way was up now. But his lungs were burning, his head was pounding, even as his legs kicked he ached with a need to breathe. Daisy was so heavy in his hands, would he need to abandon her to survive?

But then his head broke the surface, and he gasped painfully for fresh air, coughing and sputtering. Quickly, he pulled Daisy’s head above the surface, grabbing her under her arms, and began searching for the boat. It was dark, the surface of the ocean was an endless, rolling motion, it was impossible to see, the salt stung his eyes and he could barely keep his head above water.

“Help!” he hollered, “Help!”

Then, light! A spotlight! Jon turned to see the ship behind him and waved with relief. Two figures were standing on the deck, he could see their reflective life vests. A life ring was tossed in his direction, he paddled as best he could. Daisy didn’t respond, she seemed to be unconscious.

The ring was pulled, which helped, Jon tried to kick along, tried to keep Daisy’s head above water. It couldn’t have been five minutes since she was knocked overboard, was she okay? Was she alive? It took longer than five minutes to drown, right?

_ Depending on circumstances, drowning is possible in waters as shallow as six inches _

Well that wasn’t helpful.

A ladder was dangled from the edge of the deck, but Jon shifted Daisy instead. “She’s unconscious, help her!” he cried, struggling to stay afloat and lift her up. He could hold her in one arm in the water, but he didn’t have the strength to carry her up.

Someone reached down and plucked her out of his arms, then he was left to climb alone. His limbs were jelly, his body was soft, he couldn’t make it up the handful of soft rope rungs, he was going to fall back, fall back into the sea-

Then a hand caught his, strong and sure, and Georgie pulled him to safety. 

He stumbled forward, and she caught him in a hug, leading him quickly inside. 

“Daisy,” he mumbled, expecting to see her laid out on the deck, receiving first aid, “She needs CPR, she needs-”

“Basira has her,” Georgie promised, leading him belowdecks, “It’s okay, Jon. She’s safe.”

*****

Several miles to the north, an unmarked cargo ship cruised calmly through the storm, cutting its way through the deadly waves with supernatural ease. 

“That’s it?” asked the Captain, his voice tense with anger. 

“It’s just a start,” his passenger promised, “Just a start. We can’t be too obvious yet.”

“No, no,” the Captain signed, anger deflating from him like it had never really been there to begin with, “No, you’re right.”

“Don’t worry,” the passenger said, “Soon, they’ll be dead.”

*****

Jon sat in the tiny galley, bundled under blankets while Georgie made a very aggressive cup of hot chocolate.

"I said I was sorry," he managed as she tutted.

"Shut up."

The kettle whistled. A tin mug was slammed in front of him, full of warm dark liquid. 

"Drink."

Jon obliged. It was very tasty.

Georgie paced the small space available, clearly building up to something. "Do you-" she started, then shook her head, "Do you have any idea how phenomenally stupid that was?"

"I just-"

"Daisy is a strong swimmer. Basira, and I, we know how to rescue people lost at sea, there are procedures for that. Jon, have you ever swam before today?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to feel afraid?" Jon argued.

Georgie turned to him so sharply he flinched, spilling his hot chocolate. "Shit," she muttered, tossing a towel at the table. "Look, just because I don't feel fear doesn't mean I can't tell what risk is. And I know that one possible loss-" She pointed back to the bunks "-is terrible, but adding another on top-" she pointed at Jon "-is far worse."

"I'm sorry," Jon muttered again, distractedly dabbing away the stains on the table. He didn’t bring up the hypocrisy that Daisy, in going out on deck in a storm without a life vest or safety line, had taken a much bigger risk than he had.

"Just don't get yourself killed," Georgie sighed.

Basira ducked her way into the galley. Before either of them could ask, she assured them, "She's fine. No hypothermia, she's just asleep."

"Thank god," John sighed.

"She giving you the third degree?" Basira nodded at Georgie. "I don't need to add on but, you probably saved her life. You also got extremely lucky and by all rights you should be dead too."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me."

"Right… Basira, what happened?" Jon frowned up at her, thinking back to how this had all started, "Why was I left out when you guys took shelter?"

Basira opened her mouth, but was cut off by Melanie calling from the wheelhouse, "Okay, how much longer are you guys gonna let the blind girl drive the boat!?"

"I'll relieve her," Georgie offered, but Basira cut her off.

"No, get some sleep, both of you. We'll probably get there by tomorrow."

There was little left to be said. Georgie and Jon filed into the sole cabin. Daisy was already sleeping on one lower bunk, Georgie climbed above her, and Jon opted for the other lower bunk. The space was tight, very small, but comfortable. Cozy, just enough space to breathe easily, and know your friends were within arm's reach.

Huh. Friends. Jon felt himself smile at the thought. They were his friends.

*****

The heart of the Panopticon was the internal spiral, the weaving maze of cameras and feeds, small observation rooms filled with screens, dripping with the fear and terror that the Eye would feed on through its servants and avatars. 

It was dark, and the halls were small and unpredictable, but Elias knew them well enough as he made his way underground. “Statement of Gertrude Robinson,” he said into his recorder, feeling the warm shudder of beginning a statement, “regarding her final days in the role of Archivist. Statement never given. 

“Statement begins. 

“Following the Change, Gertrude was completely alone. Her friends and assistants, such as they were, had abandoned her, and with the Change as it was, she found she had no more purpose. She was cunning, sure, cold and ruthless under that disguise as a helpless old woman, but what did she have left to plot or scheme?

“She tried the only thing she could think of, the only plan she was ever really capable of doing. She tried to destroy the Panopticon with some primitive explosives. Pathetic, really. Maybe it would have worked before the Change, but after?

The Eye sees all. The Eye knows all. It saw Gertrude, desperate for one last hurrah, for one last destructive gesture to put her mark on the world. It saw her, and all she was, for all her power and capabilities, as a human. 

Nothing more than a human.

She would not give up her humanity, but she would also cling to her own life. And so, the Eye, in its mercy, terminated her as Archivist. It let her live, let her be human. Let her understand exactly what that would mean. 

There ends the story of Gertrude Robinson’s time as Archivist.

Statement ends.”

Elias stopped walking. He was some distance below the Panopticon now, in long-abandoned halls. Cobwebs stretched across the ceiling and in corners. 

A metal hatch was impressed on the stone wall. The latch was rusty, and it took some effort to turn, but Elias managed it, grimacing in disgust. 

Inside was a chamber not unlike the ones above, every available surface covered in screens, flickering rapidly from horror to horror, recorded statements playing from a dozen hidden speakers, and hovering an inch off the ground was the shriveled husk of a woman. 

Her mouth was slack and open, her eyes wide and unseeing, skin hung off her skeleton like there was nothing left underneath. 

She had once been a woman with nothing to lose. Now? She was a woman with nothing at all. 

“Gertrude,” Elias smiled, “I have a job offer for you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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